


say it plainly.

by outerjaw



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Drama, Drunken Kissing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outerjaw/pseuds/outerjaw
Summary: You kiss me goodnight,you are my soldier boy,andto this day, I do love you so.Oh, the jealousy bred in repression...
Relationships: Percival/Vane (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	say it plainly.

Holiday festivities in Feendrache are not unlike family reunions. And in the nature of such a gathering there is ever-present nostalgia, good food, fine drink—

And family drama.

The two of them meet again under a bright chandelier, smiling in greeting as if they had seen each other the very day before, and not in the actual six months it  _ has _ been. Vane is no longer Lancelot’s vice captain; he has led a battalion of his own for years since their separation. Lancelot has risen as well; all the way to the rank of a General, and the new formal armor he bears is telling of that new detail.

“Lanchan! It’s been forever, you don’t look a day over 25.”

“Always so kind, Vane. I think your sheer joy has kept you young as well.”

Percival, just up the grand staircase, is locked in a conversation with one of Aglovale’s consorts. 

But oh, how he wishes he is  _ not _ . 

Past her shoulder, he stares down at the sight of the two old lovers, and he burns. He has been dreading this day for _ weeks _ knowing that he would have to bear witness to the disgusting convergence of those two. No matter how many times Vane looks through Percival’s clever facade of indifference and tells him not to worry— he does. And he continues to worry now.

Those two had always made him so irate when they were together, during older times. If only he could have sooner realized why.

They laugh. Lancelot places his hand on Vane’s shoulder. Percival’s stomach twists into a knot.  _ I can’t stand watching this. _ With a quick apology, he pardons himself from his conversation partner and flies to another part of the castle- anywhere,  _ anywhere else _ but looking down at such a bright, innocent, fury-inducing scene.

When Vane finds him again, the party is in full force, and Percival has downed what must have been a full barrel of mead. Not that his facial expression exposes him; Vane simply knows him well, perhaps  _ too well,  _ and his regular smell (of a light, equally floral and smoky cedarwood) has been taken over by unmistakable alcohol. 

“Paasan, I’ve been looking for you!”

“Have you.” What should have been a question falls flat. Percival looks away and raises yet  _ another _ half-empty mug to his lips, but Vane snatches it away, the only person seemingly impervious to red-hot intimidation. No, Vane does not buckle under the coming stare, instead sending one of his own— but his is far more warm than boiling, far more  _ concern _ than  _ sharp edges _ .

“What makes you think I wouldn’t? You’ve been missing for hours!”

“And here I thought you were preoccupied.” 

They often bicker like this, quick wit equally spaced with buzzing silence. Even after being together for as long as they have, perhaps they still think that they can win by having a more serious glare, or by not blinking for longer. But  _ most fights _ die as quickly as they are born, escalating in high peaks only for mere moments before quieting to a simmer. Not this time— the heat steadily rises, and does not weaken or give way. 

“You really don’t listen to me, do you?”

“I don’t have to. My eyes work just fine.”

“And there was nothing to see!”

“Don’t look down on me so vividly that you think you can  _ blatantly _ lie.”

Vane is not a stupid man. Simple, of course, and more optimistic than most, but he knows better than to overlook something so glaringly obvious. Empathy and understanding come easily to him; a genius of the heart, in a way. And this is how he came to be so fond of Percival in spite of every biting remark, all of his false anger, his ego, his pride— Percival is a man made of tempered glass, thick and unbreakable, but see-through all the same. Vane can see that any casting of doubt is uncomfortable at best, and achingly resounds at worst. 

What is a self-assured man when he grows restless? When he can no longer trust that he is enough?

The answer is that he is not angry at all. He is jealous. And  _ drunk _ . 

“You know I’d never lie to you,” Vane’s expression falls, hurt at the accusation. Percival often thinks that Vane looks like some kind of an injured animal when his eyebrows knit together while that small, subtle frown takes the place of an otherwise neutral smile. Vane is the kind of person who looks joyful even when stressed, or overthinking, or mentally occupied. While Percival may claim that it only succeeds in making Vane seem daft, he really does believe that it is a strength in and of itself.  _ To be that blindly good... _

Looking into a face so clearly wounded is difficult, so Percival averts his gaze.

Vane steps closer.

“I was catching up with an old friend, Paasan.”

_ Always so soft, can’t you be serious and say my name for once? Why are you looking at me so affectionately now? _ He is beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, so as a result, feels unable to voice his thoughts. Vane takes another step closer.

Percival instinctively backs away, but has no room left to go. He only manages to press back into the ornate, polished banquet table which everyone has cleared from by now— people who are likely to be dancing and making conversation in the next hall over. Neither of the two men are aware of whether they will be walked in on or not, but if they consider such a thing, it is only for a moment. Percival’s hand goes to Vane’s chest in an attempt to keep him at a distance, but the pressure is too soft. It merely rests above his partially armored suit. An echo of an embrace.

“That’s all.”

Vane’s voice has dropped so low that it could have been a whisper, if not for his deep octave. But Percival no longer wants to hear it. They lock eyes once more, and in realizing their newly posed proximity, Percival closes the distance. 

_ You know I can’t stand it when you’re so calm.  _

The warmth in their kiss is not so coordinated, and unsurprisingly tastes of honey— intoxicating sweetness and longing. That which the both of them had successfully hidden from everyone else month after month accumulates in the same way as their arguments start: at first from what seems like nothing, and then the rest of the world quickly falls away.

A peck, then two. Percival’s touch falls to Vane’s waist. Begging— no, demanding and hungry. His lips part, begging to be entered, and Vane has no qualms with satisfying the subtle request. Though Vane had kept himself sober for the night, his head still swims, overtaken by the growing tension. If jealousy could be banished with kisses, it would have been. If jealousy could fall off like a fruit from the branch, the moment ripens, sweetens, a soft and wet tongue finding home to the mouth that wants to ask,  _ Aren’t you mine? Can’t I say it proudly? _

And then the door opens.

There are two men standing in an otherwise empty dining room. One, facing away from the open door, leans casually against the table. The other, tall and kind-looking, places a glass of water next to him.

“Captain, Sir Percival,” one of Vane’s soldiers greets them. Only Vane turns, and he offers an iconic smile while he does so, revealing nothing of the intimate seconds before. “The final toasts are about to take place, if you’d like to join us.”

“Thanks for letting us know! I think Paasan’s overindulged, so I’m gonna make sure he gets back to his room alright. Tell everyone we’ll see them bright and early in the morning.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good night.”

When the door closes, neither Percival nor Vane run to the other. They do not continue on where their previous desires broke apart. In the silence, they finally realize what they are doing to themselves, keeping this secret. Jealousy, pain, unpredictability— though it may look more professional to keep their private lives out of the public eye, it is indeed a source of soreness that their passion is so carefully locked away. 

They traveled long to get here. It took years of trust and patience to fall into each other the way that they have. 

“Come on, up and at ‘em.”

Vane lifts Percival with a supporting arm, letting him lean against his shoulder as they ascend to the chambers of the castle. Percival wants to object, but his legs feel like they might give out at any moment, and Vane is  _ so warm _ in contrast to his drunken shivers. Ironic that a prince of flames longs for that warmth in another.

In many ways, he feels that he has won. He knows that he will be the one who falls asleep next to Vane, who will be comforted in what is sure to be an extreme hangover, who will be kissed even in the aftermath of his sickness… but no one else would be the wiser.

Just as a sober Percival had requested secrecy, a drunken Percival wants to say it plainly.

* * *

When Vane throws the curtains open, Percival, in the most unsurprising turn of their weekend back in Feendrache, groans out a complaint.

Just as had been predicted, there were several points in the night that he had awoken merely to let loose his sickness in the bathroom; overindulgence was no repetitive vice of Percival’s, and perhaps that had been why he felt so abysmal in the aftermath of his misplaced attention. Each and every time he found the strength to crawl back into bed, he was met with some variant of the typical scolding. 

“This is why you shouldn’t drink so much,” and “Be careful next time!” were met with passive grunts or an astounding complete silence. 

But, in the end, those same arms curled around him, and Percival could fall back to sleep without a problem. Vane had always been welcoming in that way, once Percival found that he could be receptive to it. As the walls came down into the small, secret place they shared, he no longer felt so avoidant of the softer feelings that didn’t always nudge at something tall, like pride.

Vane always managed to be good at that, too.

“Rise and shine, Paasan!”

From the bed to his trunk, Percival shuffled with half-opened eyes and dressed himself as any other day. For the rest of the week, various festivals would whisk the both of them around in a whirlwind of celebration and formality that would most  _ certainly _ end with both of them pining for each other’s company. He could not say for sure that this jealousy wouldn’t eat him away, or that he wouldn’t toy with asking to leave Feendrache early, but then he takes a long look at the jewelry he left on his bedside.

It is a ring of simple silver; one that he wears in the comfort of his own home, and where he knows that others would not recognize the significance. In the mornings, just before they leave, it is placed on the bedside nightstand and only returned to its owner long after sunset, when they come home to their quiet and cozy-kept residence.

“Are you feeling sick again?”

Vane’s question brings him out of his train of thought. “No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _ Yes _ , can we go?”

“Well, sure, but you gotta stand up first.”

Percival blinks from where he is still sat on the bed. When had he taken that ring from its resting place? When had he placed it back on his finger?

“Right, then. Let’s get going.”

Vane is silent when Percival doesn’t take it off, but doesn’t press further. His smile is telling enough, and as much as Percival would have wanted to tell him to knock it off, or what the big deal had been, the biting remarks don’t quite come to the surface. He wouldn’t meant it, not really— not like sentiment of keeping his hands exposed.

And when they wave hello to their cohorts around the castle, they wave with the hands bearing the rings that match.

Feendrache masks its lack of surprise.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to write so much more for this pairing, it's too underrated. 
> 
> I also take writing requests! Take a look at some more info [here](https://twitter.com/outerjaw/status/1208521831793037313).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
